Postapocalyptia
by Westcoast Barrel
Summary: A young, determined girl thrust into the harsh wasteland. A cold, tired woman born and raised in the hellish world, and a bitter fate between them. What could go wrong? Many things. Originally Rated M for copious amounts of swearing, some sexual reference, and the probability of eventual smut. You have been warned.
1. Chapter 1: Hell of a Meeting

**Fair warning: this story will eventually involve a lesbian relationship. I request that you don't read any further if you don't like that fact.**

* * *

The Capital Wasteland: a place where Raiders mutilated dogs and the term 'godforsaken' could be used to describe the entire state and then some. An impressively sized ball of trash dusts aimlessly over an expanse of shit-stained nowhere, and somewhere, amongst the ruin, a woman digs through a pile of God-knows-what, grumbling loudly about the shitty state of the place, her eyes watering from the general smell of death surrounding her.

With a terse sigh she climbed out of the house, pants coated in what was probably human ashes mixed with the dust of ancient furniture. She didn't bother dusting herself off as she dropped back against a ruined car on the street. She grabbed off her newly-found combat helmet, letting raven hair fall where it would, frustration evident on her face. She had almost thought this particular area would be a veritable goldmine when it came to loot; there was a Vault nearby, she knew, and a lot of people were wary of them, if they hadn't already learned to hate them. But then... she supposed that Megaton wasn't but a mile up a dirt path from here, so just about anyone in search of it would pass through and grab what they could for a few caps to live off of. In any case, that taught her just how rewarding it was to get her hopes up, like some naïve little kid.

Somewhat defeated now, she put her helmet back on, stretching her legs before continuing on down the road. There were still a couple of houses she had left to check, plus that mailbox at the end of the street. People stashed a lot of valuable things in mailboxes when they though nobody would come looking. Those people usually had brains warped from years of using Jet or shooting Med-X as well, so anything they had stashed was usually of value to the right person.

She spent the next few minutes combing through the last two houses and their mailboxes, finding nothing more than a magazine about hand-to-hand combat – which she could sell at a decent price if Moira was feeling generous and not batshit-crazy. She also managed to find a few bottles of alcohol - which she would be happy to imbibe later - and a pack of bobby pins. All fairly standard things to find, all told. But once she reached that last mailbox, it was like baby Jesus had descended from the heavens. Piled inside, a handful of frag grenades and Jet for days – it almost paid for the wasted trip down here. Almost.

So, with a decent amount of loot in tow, she decided to waste some time looking around the mostly destroyed settlement, trying to imagine how it looked before the nukes came. Probably like what you see on the billboards and in the magazines: nice, white houses, picket fences, a Mr. Handy walking a tiny, quivering dog... It didn't seem like it could've ever been real, looking at the state of things now. Now, the white houses were black and brown, charred and filthy. If any were left standing, the fences were all but destroyed, and the Mr. Handys... well, she didn't see any tiny dogs that needed walking these days.

Then, she turned to the Vault behind her.

Vault 101, she remembered. The signs had this place written up as a sanctuary, a place to escape the horrors of the real world and continue living traditionally. '_A brighter future, and a better life_.' People she had met - erm... _ghouls_ she had met - who were alive at the time of the Great War told her stories about the Vaults. How you would be turned away if you didn't have enough money, and how, after the doors were shut just before the nukes came, they ignored the cries of the citizens who couldn't make it in time, and likely just watched as they slowly died, either from starvation or radiation, refusing to open up the doors even once. Yeah, it sure sounded like the noble cause the signs made it out to be. Vacantly, she wondered if anyone was still alive inside of that big, metal box, if they actually continued living when things went to shit. Wouldn't that be something?

Ah, well. No point in wasting time on it anymore.

As she turned, aiming for Megaton to sell her accumulated finds, she noticed something rather... odd. Footprints. Now, this area still mostly had its original asphalt laid down, but a lot of it was stripped away, leaving only the dirt underneath. Dirt that got a clean slate every time the wind picked up... dirt that, she noticed, had two sets of prints in it, one coming up to where she currently stood, and one leading away. Sure, it could have been another like-minded wasteland scavenger, but all visibly valuable things on the street were left behind for her to find. Not even a junkie was lazy enough to just glean over everything. Eyebrows furrowing almost audibly, she tried to piece it together.

A gunshot went off.

Pulled from her thoughts, the woman snapped to attention, head lowering instinctively as her right hand flew to the .357 on her hip, blue eyes searching for the source of the noise. Nothing but silence followed the initial shot, and there was no one in sight. With a small scowl on her face, she began moving forward, trying not to make too much noise - as best as she could with her clunky-ass combat boots. Idly, she reminded herself to reconsider her wardrobe choices with moments such as this in mind. Another shot ripped through the air, and this time she could better tell where it came from. Taking a moment, she weighed her options: she could let it all be and go back to Megaton, sell her loot, and maybe spend half her newly-acquired caps on a night with the lovely Nova, since none of it pertained to her anyway.

Or, she could go investigate it.

The latter was a really, _really_ bad idea, considering the fact that she only had her pistol on her, and there was a 50% chance that it was just some local Raiders killing someone for fun. Still... she had this feeling, this _nagging_ feeling that she should go check it out. She didn't know why – she had never been much of a do-gooder, so this definitely wasn't worry that there was a damsel in distress that needed saving, so if she died in her pursuit, she never would know why she felt this. But more often than not, she found that it paid off to follow her gut, even if her head kept telling her it was a bad idea. She didn't know; maybe she was looking for a fight, something to get her blood rushing and her heart pumping. With a sigh, she splintered from the path back to Megaton, heading down toward the Elementary School instead.

Within a minute she found herself standing in front of the large, mostly-destroyed schoolhouse. With no other shots to follow and no groups or, at least, _bodies_ found, she took it out on faith. Most everyone knew that the more intact buildings were usually inhabited by raiders, most especially the multistory ones. Confronting a building full of armed psychopaths probably wasn't the smartest thing she'd ever decided to do, but alas, she wouldn't feel right leaving it alone now.

Pulling her pistol from its holster, she pressed an ear to the door, careful not to scrape off too much of the blood, dirt and vomit mixture that painted it. She heard some yelling, though not in the immediate vicinity - probably deeper in. Lovely. With one last mental reprimanding of herself for this stupid-ass idea, she shouldered the door, careful to keep her balance as she entered the room. And, lucky her, already the place was disgusting. A large cage sat a couple feet from the door, filled with what appeared to be trash and entrails, and maybe some bones? It was hard to tell with the poor lighting, but one thing was true to tradition: the place smelled like two ghouls fucked, then ate a meal of live grenades. Probably due to the multiple bodies hanging from the ceiling and walls, she thought. Typical raider décor.

Face scrunching up a little by itself, she moved down the right wall, passing around a corner, into a darker hallway. She heard noise to her right, and held her pistol up to meet whatever threat there was. She leaned against the dirty wall, sliding along until she reached a mostly destroyed door. Gun held steady, she peered in, careful to avoid detection. A visibly dirty raider stood with his back turned, apparently very invested in whatever he was doing. If he was a guard of some sort, he was doing a real bang-up job. She sucked in and held a breath, angling her body. She raised her revolver and aimed, carefully. _Click._

The shot echoed through what felt like the entire floor, but it didn't hit her mark - no, he managed to move right before the shot could be delivered, allowing it to embed into the opposite wall.

"_What the fuck_? Who's there?!" a raspy voice called out, the sound of a gun cocking audible through it. She slid back behind the wall a second too late: he had spotted her. Gunshots echoed throughout the corridor, and she could feel the bullets hit the wall behind her. She just stayed behind cover. She didn't feel like getting shot in the face today.

"_Shit_..." A couple of clicks sounded, and the shots stopped for a moment. There was her window.

She turned from her cover, and aimed. One shot, two shots, three, and a thud followed by a watery groan. A small, satisfied grin spread her lips. She stepped forward and pushed at the door, almost jumping when it broke right off the old hinges and hit the floor. She leaned down to search the corpse, but something stripped away her feeling of victory.

"_What the hell is going on_?" traveled from somewhere close, to her ears. Shit.

In a hurry, she finished searching the corpse, and looked around the rest of the room. Piles of shit everywhere. A dead molerat on the table. These raiders were some fucked-up people. She peeked out of the room, looking down the hallway before continuing on. If her previous victim's associates were looking for her now, a fight was surely inevitable; might as well prepare. She pushed herself up against the side of a locker, reloading. The sound was louder than she would've liked, but what can you do?

Two men rounded the corner, one after the other. The first one fidgeted something fierce, probably hadn't had a fix in a while. But the second one seemed to be completely stable, if a bit fucked up in the face. She pushed further against the wall so they couldn't see her, and she waited.

"Must've been hearing things," the fidgeter muttered, uncertainty in his voice.

"Nah. Probably came from upstairs. Sound like they're doing some crazy shit to that kid up there, probably had to put 'er back into line."

"Probably... Whatever, you want to keep looking? Dice is already covering the door; if anyone got in, they're gutted by now."

What a foolish thought. She leaned slightly over the side of the locker, holding her gun up. She was grateful they were stupid enough to distract themselves for her. She aimed. Sucked in a breath, and shot. _Bang. Bang, bang, bang._ One body fell – the fidgeter – and the other doubled over, blood beginning to soak through his shirt. She put her gun away, reaching for her switchblade. She had only just begun to step forward when the man regained his wits, bringing a 12-gauge shotgun with it.

The shot rang loud through her ears.

She slammed back against the locker just barely in time. The buckshot splattered across the wall opposite her, kicking up even more dust and smoke into the air.

"Come out, little bitch. Fuckin' blow your face off." Not very much incentive to follow orders.

He began moving forward, steps heavy and audibly staggering. Too late to try and shoot anymore. Thinking on her toes, she held her switchblade up roughly the height of a neck. Spouting off some more vile things – namely, what he would do to her corpse – he continued hobbling. One step, two… and he was in sight. Trying to think fast, she lunged, free hand knocking the barrel away from her body. A shot went off, and her thin blade sliced into his windpipe with some small amount of effort. He slid off the blade, body thumping onto the floor as he choked on his own blood. And then she felt something sharp in her leg. Pain, it seemed.

She slowly came down from the adrenaline rush, and the full force of whatever happened hit her like a VertiBird. She braced herself against the locker as she twisted, trying to see just what the hell was going on, a steady stream of ows, fucking hells and motherfuckers spewing from her mouth. A neat line of crimson blood flowed down her boot, and it registered. A goddamned ricochet. She didn't count on that happening – obviously she should have.

With a sharp exhale, she slid down onto the floor, feeling for anything useful on her person. A Med-X syringe in her pocket was all it took to make her a happy woman. She stuck the needle in her arm, pushed the plunger, and waited for the relief.

* * *

She sighed as she finished wrapping the piece of fabric around her calf. She'd have to see Doc Church when she got back, and she was absolutely not looking forward to facing that old man. He'd looked out for her from the time she first arrived in that godforsaken crater when she was twelve, and always told her that if she didn't change her ways, she was gonna get shot someday. The man was rarely wrong. She spent the next few minutes searching the lockers in the room. There was nobody that she saw coming after her, why not kill a little time?

200-year-old Nuka Cola and enough caps to net her a few bottles of whiskey was all she managed to find of worth. She nabbed a toy car as a gift for that kid Billy takes care of, but that alone was hardly worth a single cap. The hallway picked clean, she decided against the logic of her mind to leave, and continued on through the school. She poked her head into each room she passed, never finding anything really worth hauling. She kept on, however, using the walls as a brace until she opened that back hallway door.

A bullet whizzed by her head, embedding in the wall not but a foot away.

_Goddammit… again_?! She dropped back behind an overturned lunch table for cover, a rain of bullets going through the room. The dust and smoke kicked up made her cough, and ultimately made her unable to see more than a foot in front of her. Lady Luck really is a fickle mistress.

The bullets flew just past her helmet, and just beneath it, vibrating the table she leaned against. One hit her helmet, bounced off, followed shortly by another. She slumped down a little further, heart picking up dramatically. It was too dark to see her assailants, and so it was no use trying to shoot them; she'd just be wasting bullets. As they shot, she felt around her person once again... and when she heard that familiar click of an empty cylinder, she found it. The solution to all of her problems right now. The Holy Grail: a frag grenade. The temporary break in shooting allowed some of the smoke to clear, and she was grateful. Wasting no time, she pulled the grenade's pin, looked, and chucked it, falling onto her side and plugging her ears.

The explosion shook the building down to its foundations. Small chunks of concrete trailed by pebbles fell from the ceiling. Decades of dust and dirt were knocked loose. The blowback from the explosion almost wasn't worth it. _Almost_. She coughed up some of the grime that landed in her mouth, leaning up. Peering over the table, a smug grin made its way onto her face, despite the situation. Blood was sprayed across the ceiling, walls and floor, large chunks of dismembered limbs visible alongside the two - or maybe three, corpses. She almost pitied the poor bastards that would discover them.

Taking in a much-needed deep breath after the air cleared a bit, she got back onto her feet. She didn't bother dusting herself off, continuing on past the destroyed bodies without stopping to loot them. She may be greedy as hell, but she wasn't willing to wade through all that gore, when all she would surely find is a small amount of illegal medication and a handful of caps. No, even _she_ wasn't that desperate. Limping through the pools of blood into the turn of the corridor, she spotted the beginning of a staircase not far ahead. _Goodie_, a second floor. Rolling her neck, she took the walking time to reload her pistol.

The yells and screaming had stopped for a while. One would think that a first-floor explosion would take priority over whatever the degenerates came up with to entertain themselves. Evidently not, as they started up again, obnoxious as ever once she finally climbed to the top of the stairs and shouldered through the door. They were much clearer now. There were many apparent male voices amongst the rabble, but there was also something much different in the mix. Something more… oh… civilized? Human? It sounded almost like pleading when she stopped and thought about it. Did they have a hostage?

With some effort she made it through the entryway of the second floor. Pain was still shooting up her leg with every step, an annoying distraction. The first room she went through was clear. The voices and yells got louder and louder with each step, so it was only a matter of time before she got herself into deep shit _again_. Whatever she ended up finding better damn well be worth it.

She passed through a middle door, eyes almost instantly beginning to water as she did. Holy _shit_ did it smell bad. Her first immediate assumption was that this was the community shitter. It definitely made sense. The voices were louder in here, though, and she could swear she saw movement just ahead.

_This must be it_, she thought. She grabbed her pistol and pulled the hammer back, proceeding carefully. There was cheering. A lot of cheering. A lot of very _loud _cheering. She almost dreaded to think of what she would find through here. And as she advanced, things became visibly more and more fucked up.

They hadn't seen her yet – a small grace – but she certainly saw them. At least four Raiders, both men and women, were gathered around a person tied up on the floor. They were taking turns in kicking the person, punching the person... generally abusing whoever this poor soul was. Each blow drew out a longer cry from the captive, and just the sound of it made her feel like a piece of shit just for watching. So, she did something about it.

Leaning against the wall, she held up her gun once again. Barrel aimed at the current abuser, she tried to steadily breathe in.

_Bang._

Blood splattered somewhat dramatically as the bullet flew into the vicinity of the man's neck. The cheering stopped almost immediately, the man's struggling gargles the only thing filling the room. Well... that, and some rather pathetic crying on their captive's part. It was when every soul in the room was alerted to her presence that she realized just what she had done. Guns raised. Profanities flowed freely throughout the air. And at least three people were charging like a bull toward the partially crippled woman. _Fuck_. Bad move, bad move.

She tried to run for cover. Someone jumped on her before she could. Painfully, she fell sideways into the wall, a _pop_ sounding from her shoulder. Ow. Fuck, ow. Barbarians, this lot. She squirmed terribly, her assailant unable to get much of a grasp on her as she fought to bring her gun up, but he finally managed to grip her neck.

_BOOM._

The shot rang louder than ever in her ears. Face and clothing painted with blood, the raider fell to the ground, along with the remnants of his head. She groaned; even the blood smelled vile. Shots hit the wall beside her, however, and she was pulled back into action. Shoulder terribly sore, her aim would be very affected. She fell against a bookcase, blood running cold as it momentarily swayed. She lifted her gun up again, barely turning to look around the corner as she began haphazardly shooting. Most of the bullets hit the building, one or two at least clipping a raider.

_Click. Click. Clickclickclick. Shit!_

Her back fully hit the bookcase, and she struggled to find bullets in her pocket. Her heart was beating loud in her ears, and she almost worried she was about to have a coronary. Then her hand hit something cold and metal, a momentary feeling of relief spreading through her. She reloaded with somewhat shaking hands, resuming her haphazard shooting once that of her enemy's stopped. Two thuds followed the shots in close succession, which then warranted yet another, _click. Click._ This gun was a piece of shit. She felt around for some more bullets, breath hitching when she felt nothing. Not one bullet in any of her pockets. Air leaving her lungs almost faster than she could replace it, she tried to think of a Plan B. Her brain went through all the possibilities, before it hit her quite blatantly.

She dropped down next to the corpse she had created just minutes previous, grabbing the pistol from his hip. She cocked it, and quickly got back to her place behind the shelf.

"You little bitch. I'll gut you like a pig-whore!" one particularly venomous Raider shouted, footsteps nearing her. Oh, shit.

He popped out from the other side of the shelf and shot at her, missing mostly. She returned the favor, all of her bullets fucking right off into the wall behind him. And he was _**right there**_! With the all-too-familiar _clickclick_ of the gun, she groaned, tossing it aside in favor of the knife in her pocket. The raider had followed suit, his little pistol landing on the floor as he raised his spiked knuckles. Mentally, she had to applaud herself for getting into this mess.

She moved closer, slashing diagonally at his torso as he swung his left fist. Four sharp points slammed against her cheek, and she could swear she felt everything breaking. With her lost momentum, he brought a knee into her abdomen. Much of the air left in her lungs was knocked out, body involuntarily doubling over. He struck again, knee colliding with her nose this time. It was only when her back hit the cold floor that she thought the man would deliver on his promise to gut her like a pig-whore... whatever a pig-whore was.

He jumped onto her without missing a beat, knuckles hitting her again, once, twice. She had begun to zone out, when he suddenly stopped, slowly rolling off of her with a soft _thump_. A knife stuck out of his chest, her own right hand a bit bloodied. Oh.

"I'll fucking... ugh... kill you... bitch."

A tiny, unwelcome smile stretched her facial muscles as her eyes drifted shut. Perhaps he already had.

* * *

Her ears rang. It was like a bell going off incessantly in her head, telling her to wake the fuck up. It didn't feel very good.

Her eyes came next. They opened, abruptly, blinding light flooding them – well, one of them – despite how dark the actual room was. All her other senses slowly followed suit. All she could think was that she hurt like hell. Despite the aching in her neck and the near-blindness in her right eye, she forced herself to look around. A raider laid dead next to her, knife sticking out of his chest. Another one laid a couple feet away, head… mostly destroyed. Gross.

With a long, drawn out groan she forced herself into a sitting position, back sore from the initial fall. Her head hurt, understandably, and it took a few moments before she remembered what she was doing in here. _The captive._ Right. Okay.

She spent the next few minutes – and it did take a few minutes – getting up onto her feet with the help of the bookshelves. Something hammered away inside her head, it felt, and for a moment after she stood, all she saw was stars. The lightheaded feeling alone nearly knocked her right back onto her ass, but thankfully subsided after a few moments. She would really get an earful from the Doc now.

Once she got her bearings, she limped her way over to the captive in the center of the room, who looked almost as bad as she felt. Blood matted up long, golden hair and stained a strange blue and yellow jumpsuit. The captive – a woman, looked like – didn't seem to notice her, breath shaky, nose evidently dripping with snot. With a mildly sympathetic frown, she worked on getting the captive's bindings off, immediately being met with resistance, the girl thrashing about almost violently, protests desperately leaking out of her mouth.

"Whoa, whoa. Calm down. Hey - stop squirming! I'm trying to help you!" It took a few moments, but the girl finally stilled. Breathing out a sigh of relief, she tried pulling the ropes off, finally pulling out her switchblade to cut through them. And with a couple of minutes and some determined sawing, she got through the rope.

The heel of a boot collided hard with her face, and she was sent back onto the floor again.

"What the fuck?! What the hell is wrong with you?!" She groaned loudly into her hands, which were cupped around her nose, now doubly fucked up. The girl clambered to her feet in movements akin to a baby, running for the door behind her and crying out when it didn't budge. Didn't stop her – the girl ran a different direction now, panting loudly as she did. Goddammit…

She got up off the ground, intent on chasing after the girl as quickly as her damaged leg would let her. She shouted out a few things along the way, but the girl refused to stop. It was only when the girl had tripped over herself that she gained a speed advantage. She caught up, and somewhat intentionally fell onto the girl, arms moving to pin her down before she could shove her off.

"I'm sorry- don't hurt me, please, I'm sorry, I won't do it again, please let me go, please." The crying resumed in the girl beneath her, and she couldn't help but feel like a piece of shit, even though she was currently faultless.

"Calm your shit, kid, I'm not gonna hurt you. Why'd you run from me? - Hey, why'd you run?"

The girl sniffled into the floor beneath her, face red and puffy from both the exertion and hours of crying. "Thought… I thought you were one of them. Didn't know what to do." Her voice had adopted a somewhat robotic tone, and refused to keep steady as hard breaths were involuntarily sucked in.

She sighed, looking rather helplessly around the room as she tried to think. She didn't expect to find a hostage. She didn't expect to _save_ a hostage, and now she was left not knowing what the hell to do. She freed up one of her hands to scratch at her head, lips pursing in thought.

"Alright, kid... come on. I'll help you get cleaned up," she said, suppressing a groan as she stood back up, holding out a hand for the girl. Damn thing looked like a kicked puppy there on the ground, and it sucked. The girl managed to pull herself up, frame shaking badly though the conflict had passed. Her face really did look kinda like shit, she couldn't lie. One side of her face was badly swollen, either from the beatings or the crying, she wasn't sure which, and her lips were split and still actively bleeding. Her hair was pasted onto her forehead and parts of her jaw with dried blood, and it was all just a big mess.

She led the girl carefully out of the schoolhouse, a hot pain spreading up her leg at this point every time she moved it. They hadn't encountered any Raiders going out, and for once, she was glad not to have the conflict.

* * *

**Many thanks to SurprisinglyOdd for helping me out with this. I _am _planning to make this a series, a fairly long one, so please favorite, follow, review, all that jazz.**


	2. Chapter 2: Information

With a fair amount of effort and a lot of stumbling, the pair finally made it into Megaton.

"Well, I'll be damned," came the voice of Lucas Simms as he ambled up the hill. "Another newcomer." As he came closer, the self-proclaimed sheriff's idle enthusiasm turned into concern. "Goddamn. You two look like you just got into a fistfight with an army of Mutants. You particularly." He nodded to the girl. "Might wanna go see Doc Church, if you weren't already headed down that way." And with a tip of his hat, he departed.

"Thank you for stating the obvious," muttered the older woman with a sigh. With some more effort, the two made it down the slope, where the clinic sat. Before they entered, she spoke again. "A bit of fair warning: Doc Church is a little... blunt. He's not gonna be the chipper family doctor you're used to."

In response to that, the only thing the girl could do was smirk. If only she knew.

The woman finally managed to dislodge the metal door to the clinic. "You better have cancer or be on death's doorstep," came the Good Doctor's voice, his nose buried in wrinkly paperwork. "'Cause I ain't gonna bother with every little splinter or broken bone."

"I've missed you too, Doc," the woman replied, her lips quirking up into a smile as he looked at her.

"Oh, goddammit, Daniels. The hell did you manage to get yourself into now?" He stood, clearly annoyed. "Who's this?" he asked, nodding towards the girl.

"Dunno, actually. What's your name, kid?"

The girl fidgeted a bit, one hand pressed against her aching ribs. "Uh... Sylvia. Hitchcock," she replied, following the two into the operating room as Daniels climbed up onto the shabby bed, with a little help from the Doc and a dramatic expression of pain.

"Alright, what kind of shitstorm are we looking at here?" asked Doc Church, who rarely bothered to do his own examinations.

"Aside from the obvious facial carnage? A bit of lead ricocheted into this calf... last fucker that fought me had on a set of spiked knuckles, definitely some damage to this cheek. But I think that's the worst of it all." She shifted on the bed, leaning back on her hands, one arm of which was caked with dried blood. Sylvia carefully took a seat on a cheap green armchair in the corner.

The Doc pulled out a blade and began slicing up the side of Daniels' pant leg.

"Whoa, whoa - hey! What are you doing?! These are good pants!" She whined, mouth screwed up into an angry and dissatisfied frown.

"Boo-hoo. I don't think you'll have trouble finding more. Get on your stomach."

She obeyed with some angry grumbling, flopping audibly onto her stomach and letting out a hiss of pain as she did. Doc Church grabbed a few things from a medical bag, briefly turning to Sylvia.

"You squeamish?" he asked.

"N-no... Not particularly, I guess."

"Good." He dug a thin blade into Daniels' calf, drawing up a groan from deep inside her throat.

"A little warning, please?!" She growled, fingers tightly clutching the edge of the bed.

"You'll live," he replied, producing a pair of tweezers, blood flowing freely from her wound. And despite her earlier statement, Sylvia cringed, eyes averting from the scene. A few more moments passed, and not silently, thanks to the steady stream of curses through clenched teeth coming from the older woman.

"Got it." A quiet _pa-tang_ as the bit of lead bounced into a tray. The stinging came next as he poured antiseptic onto the wound, wrapping it quickly. "You're lucky; if you took any longer getting here, you'd have a damn nasty infection on your hands. Sit up."

She obeyed.

"Your face, though... That's a whole 'nother story. Judging by the lack of general shape, I'd say your cheekbone looks pretty damn broken. Ain't shit I can do to fix it. Haven't got the tools nor the know-how to set it properly, so you're just gonna have to let it heal by itself. It won't be fun," He paused, pouring some antiseptic onto a cloth, "But I've got plenty of Med-X to help it go by." He placed the cloth on her face, wiping at the cuts left by the spikes. She hissed, teeth clenching once again, along with her fists. The man's touch over the apparently broken bone was about as delicate as the jaw of a Yao Guai.

"Aside from that..." He tacked a couple bandages onto her face, pulling off another strip of bandage to wrap around her forearm after roughly cleaning it. "You're pretty much fine." He secured the bandage, turning to put some of his equipment away and stopping her when she tried to climb down off the bed.

"Uh-uh. Not so fast, kid. I got the lead out, but it was still lodged in there pretty good. I don't want you running around and fucking things up, 'less you want to come back in here for the third time this month." He grabbed out a pair of rickety, taped-up crutches set up against the room divider. "You're stuck with these for at least a couple days."

"The hell, Doc? You know I can't stick with these things for that long. I couldn't even stick with that ankle splint last year, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember. I also remember you _blowing_ _out_ your ankle and being laid up for three months after getting chased by a group of pissed off Raiders. So suck it up and stay home for a while." He shooed her away from the bed, waving Sylvia up as Daniels slumped against the newly vacated armchair, morose and tired. Sylvia didn't have as much issue climbing up; it was her ribs that ached the worst.

"Now, what happened to you? I can see you took a nice whippin' to the face, but I need the specifics."

Sylvia sucked in a breath, unintentionally tweaking her ribs further as she tried to remember exactly what all happened.

"They kicked me, a lot. Primarily around – Christ alive," she breathed, hand pressing her ribs without thinking about it. "Ribs, definitely. I'd guess there is, or will be internal bruising, and I wouldn't be surprised if there was some fracturing or minor bleeding around the area." Doc Church raised an eyebrow, pouring out some more antiseptic, nearly down to the bottom of the bottle.

"You know much about medicine?" he asked, gearing up to press the cloth to her face.

"Not as much as my father did. He was the Vault's only doctor and surgeon, so I found it difficult not to pick up some general know-how."

"Vault, eh?" He wiped at the cuts and scrapes, traces of a smile on his face when she hissed and tensed against the sting. "That's a fortunate hand to be dealt."

"What, living in a Vault?" She chuckled, despite the discomfort it caused in her chest. "Sure, if you like growing up in a large tin can that smells like radroaches, disinfectant and the elderly."

"'Case you haven't noticed, lotta people would kill for that opportunity. Imagine it's a lot safer than growing up in a metal shack, surrounded by Raiders and mirelurks."

Sylvia frowned a bit, watching idly as he grabbed out another pre-threaded needle. He had a point, and she knew it was ungrateful to argue that point, but he had no idea how uncomfortable the Vault was. As she spaced out in thought, Doc Church pushed the needle through the flesh above her brow, continuing the motion until he had secured the entirety of the fairly small cut. He tied it off and cut the thread, dropping it down into a cup of... something that was probably sanitary.

He turned after a moment, looking her over. "Take your suit off."

Sylvia blinked, her expression visibly affronted. He rolled his eyes in response, releasing an exasperated sigh.

"Just the torso. I need to see the damage, understand?"

She nodded, plainly uncomfortable as she unzipped the top of her Vault suit, shrugging the arms and back off.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He shook his head, lifting her gray undershirt up just enough to plainly see the lower ribcage area. "Hold this up for me - good." He inspected further, hands pressing in spots, most likely to gauge the severity. A good couple of minutes passed before he spoke again.

"Well, the good news is that nothing's broken."

Sylvia dropped her shirt then, smoothing it out gently over her stomach. "And the bad news?"

"The bad news? Well, you've got some pretty good bruising going on there, for sure. Can't fix that either, so if you're particularly soft when it comes to pain tolerance, I can give you some meds. If you can find something cold in this hellhole of a wasteland, put it over your ribs to help with the swelling and pain. It's gonna take probably... four, six weeks to heal, maybe less, maybe more. So, if you can manage to stay out of trouble," he cast a pointed glare toward the one on crutches, "you'll be fine. Now go." He waved them both away, beginning to put his supplies away altogether.

"Uh... Doc? How much is this going to be?" Daniels asked, struggling to her feet with the help of her crutches.

"Right! I'd nearly forgotten. Hm... with the stitching, the crutches, the antiseptic and the bandaging... 750 caps would probably suffice."

"Shit! 750?! You never charge more than 100 when I come in!"

"My supplies are nearly gone now, so if I'm going to afford any when the caravans roll through, I'm going to need some caps. I could just take all your bandages and stitches back, if you'd prefer?" He placed his kit under the counter, turning to look at the both of them expectantly.

"Ugh... fine," Daniels grumbled, fishing around in her many pockets before coming up with a pile of multicolored caps. She moved to the counter, muttering to herself as she clinked the caps down onto the counter. Finally, she slid the remainder back into her pocket. "Should be about 750."

With a hollow smile, Doc Church fingered through the small pile, nodding. "There we are. You're free to go, but just remember, if you tried to cheat me out of some caps..." He trailed off, staring pointedly at Daniels.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I learned my lesson when I was a kid, Doc. See you later." She sighed, beckoning Sylvia with her head as she hopped on her crutches through the metal building, and out the door. Sylvia pushed her arms back through that of her suit, shrugging it back on and zipping it up before they fully got outside.

"So... he was interesting," Sylvia muttered, a small, uncomfortable smile on her face.

Daniels looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. "He's certainly a piece of work. Just be appreciative that you weren't injured bad enough to warrant a complete strip," she chuckled, cautiously attempting to crutch down the ramp in front of the clinic.

"Right... well... where are we going from here?" She looked around the settlement, taking in the dull colors, the dirty people, the metal shacks and, most prominently, the large atom bomb resting in a crater of water. She'd have to bring that up later with someone.

"Uh... If you're getting antsy for a wash, we can go up to my place. It has a selectively functional tub."

Sylvia chuckled inwardly, thinking of how that could be used as a bad pick-up line.

"Sure, sounds good."

The two made it through the maze of ramps to a shack situated somewhat precariously on a ledge after a good half-hour, one of the two particularly spent. It was Daniels, her injured leg dragging behind her, sweat flowing from just about every pore, breath ragged. Climbing steep ramps with two artificial "legs" was a lot harder than what could be assumed. She shouldered through the front door, which she never bothered to lock.

It wasn't... great-looking inside, Sylvia thought. Traces of rust had begun to eat away here and there at the walls and sections of the floor, and battered furniture was scattered around. While she was busy judging the place, Daniels clambered up the stairs, speaking to somebody Sylvia couldn't see when she had reached the top.

"Can you get the bath running, Wadsworth? I've got a guest," Sylvia heard, followed quickly by a somewhat metallic "Certainly, madam."

Wadsworth? He - or it - sounded a lot like Andy, the Mister Handy that, er… "worked" with Stanley in Maintenance. How would someone get one of those out here?

The terribly loud sound of water rushing overhead pulled Sylvia from her thoughts, and she jumped. Carefully, she climbed the stairs to inspect. Her companion was nowhere to be seen at the top.

Um...

Sylvia took a hesitant step forward, straining to hear anything over the sound of the rusty pipes. She took another step forward, moving slowly across the metal floor, an unfamiliar and confusing feeling of dread starting to build up in her. She finally came upon a ramshackle door, slightly concealed by a ragged bookcase filled up with... not books. Without a knock or a thought, she turned the creaky knob and pushed it open, cheeks almost instantly reddening.

Her older companion stood in the center of the room, shirt missing, new-looking pants halfway up - or maybe halfway down, her thighs. A cigarette loosely hung from between her teeth, some of the ash falling off when her head snapped around to the door. A cautious expression quickly bled into a calm, amused one.

"Should really knock there, kid. Some people wouldn't appreciate the invasion," she chuckled, hopping a little as she pulled the jeans the rest of the way up her legs, fastening them. She flicked the cigarette off in an empty soda bottle which sat next to her helmet, making no move to cover her chest. Though very small, everything was thinly-veiled by a black bra.

Sylvia was at a general loss for words, her brain evidently unable to make her muscles move. Instead, she tried to take control of her speech again.

"Erm, sorry, din't mean to..." She cleared her throat, unable to understand why she was slurring now. She looked away, embarrassed. She'd seen people undressed before. Amata, her best friend, Butch DeLoria once on accident, even Freddie Gomez... not so much on accident. There was no reason to be flustered now.

Daniels maintained her amused expression and raised eyebrows even as she turned to the bed to grab a shirt. Before she turned again, Sylvia caught a quick glance of four long, jagged scars down her back.

"It's alright. Not that I mind the attention, but... you need something?" She rested her cigarette on a Nuka-Cola truck mounted on top of a filing cabinet, pulling the shirt over her head.

It took a minute, but brain function finally started coming back to her. "No... uh, no, not really." She blinked a little bit, trying to remember what she came up here for. "Ah, were you talking to someone up here? Earlier, I mean?" She fidgeted uncomfortably, her gaze still fully averted until the woman was once again entirely clothed.

"Wadsworth. Some fancy robotic butler that came with the house." She took up the cigarette again, taking a long puff. "He went and got the water started for ya." After blowing out that long puff, she dropped the cigarette into a coffee mug.

"Oh. Okay. Well, er, sorry for the intrusion. I'll go see if that's... done." She nodded, lingering awkwardly for a moment before scurrying off, door shutting behind her. Daniels chuckled, rounding up her dirty clothing as Sylvia went to inquire about the water.

"Hello?" Sylvia's light voice floated from upstairs.

"Down here," Daniels called back, nursing a bottle of whiskey as she flipped through a magazine. When she heard footsteps, she swiftly pulled her reading glasses off, tucking them under the lime-colored couch on which she lay. Sylvia padded down the steps, blonde hair now shining and clean. Though she was only wearing a slightly oversized shirt and torn up pants, she looked a hundred times better. She stood silently at the bottom of the steps for a moment, looking a bit awkward.

"What're you reading?" she finally asked, her voice small as she kept her eyes busy with something else.

"Milsurp Review," Daniels replied, trying not to squint as she stared down at the pages.

"... Guns?"

"A-yep."

"Okay. Well..." Sylvia didn't remember being so bad at conversation. "Do you have any food? Hate to ask, but..."

"Wait here," Daniels cut her off, holding up an index finger. She grabbed her crutches and hobbled off into the kitchen area with a speed that suggested she was just waiting for the girl to ask that question, clack-clacking on her way.

"Do you like iguana?" came floating from the kitchen after a few moments, muffled by something or other.

Iguana? Sylvia couldn't confirm she'd ever had it.

"Never had it," she decided. Her eyes wandered the room as she ignored the clattering from the kitchen. The living area wasn't too bad, she thought, as she got a good look of it. The walls and floors were metal like the rest of the house, the furniture multicolor and visibly aged. Two lockers sat against walls opposite each other, one lined with ammo and weapons, the other miscellaneous objects. And in the center of the back wall, a Vault-Tec looking stand sat, a few little figurines resting on it. She moved over to it, lifting one up to inspect it. It looked just like the little bobblehead her father kept on his desk in the office, albeit a bit different in what it held.

"Little help, please," Daniels called, coming out from the kitchen, arms full of foods and water bottles, two sticks of meat hanging from between her teeth. Sylvia sat the bobblehead down, moving over to take some things from her arms.

"When I asked if you had any food, I meant a box of Blamco Mac and Cheese or something, not your entire stockpile."

"Ah, it ain't all my stockpile." She dropped some things on the coffee table. "I've still got some squirrel bits somewhere." Daniels grinned as far as her muscles would allow, plopping back loudly onto her couch. Sylvia put down her acquired food, remaining upright as she rubbed her right arm.

"Siddown, kid. You're making me nervous." Daniels motioned at her obscurely, getting to work on cracking open a box of Dandy Boy Apples. Sylvia obliged, picking up and inspecting a stick of meat after a moment.

"So, what's next for you?" Daniels asked, chewing up some food. Her leg was stretched out, casually resting on the edge of the coffee table. Sylvia thought on that question for a while, munching on some foreign-tasting meat. She came out here to find her father, so she figured that was what she'd do. She swallowed her food before speaking.

"Do you know of anyone I can get information from?" She asked, popping open the lid of a water bottle.

"Mm..." Daniels thought for a second, eyes squinting slightly in the process. "Probably Moriarty. He's this asshole of an Irish fella that runs the Saloon by Craterside Supply. The only guy in town with decent whiskey, though." Daniels shrugged, taking another bite of whatever it was she had been eating – something red and shriveled.

Irish? Sylvia chuckled, remembering an Irish family in the Vault. They ate in silence for a while, with only the occasional rattling from Wadsworth, the robotic butler.

"So, your name is... Daniels?" Sylvia asked after some time, the name foreign on her tongue.

"Last name," Daniels clarified, mouth somewhat full. "Most just call me Snow."

Sylvia's eyebrows furrowed.

"Snow? Is... is snow a thing out here?" she asked, eyes hopeful. 'Snow' chuckled, shaking her head.

"No. 'Least not anymore, in my lifetime. But it's said to be really cold, so anyone who knows about snow knows exactly what to expect with me." Sylvia couldn't help but frown a little bit. Not for the fact that the woman hadn't been cold to her in the slightest so far, but because she had always wanted to see real snow. Snow that wasn't generated on a projector.

They eventually ate and drank their fill, and Snow looked about ready to fall asleep, head reclined back, bottle of whiskey loosely held between three fingers.

"When should I go meet Moriarty, do you think?" Sylvia asked, herself nursing a little bottle of purified water, not trusting herself to try whiskey. Her dad always told her it would burn her throat like fire. Her posture was much different from Snow's, back straight, one knee crossed over the other, but she didn't really notice much.

Snow groaned, taking another drink. "We can go today."

"You don't have to come with me."

Snow raised her head up, eyes scrutinizing as they looked Sylvia over. "Yeah, I do. He'd eat you alive." She chuckled, taking yet another drink. Sylvia frowned again, looking down at herself. She had no idea what it was that her older companion saw to determine that.

Another minute or two of silence passed and Sylvia had begun to wonder if Snow had fallen asleep. Then she stirred.

"Alright, enough dilly-dallying, I guess. Get your shoes on, kid," she said, pulling on and strapping her own boots with some effort and cringing. Sylvia obeyed, going up to fetch them. When she returned, Snow was waiting for her by the door, biting absently at her fingernails.

"You ready?" Snow asked, when she finally noticed Sylvia. She nodded, and the two went on their way. Right after they dislodged the front door.

"Moriarty! Mori, man, hey!" Snow greeted when, finally, they reached the Saloon. A grey-haired man leaning up against the ledge barely turned from the railing to look at her.

"Got a new friend again, did you?" he asked, turning to look back over Megaton. "Does this one need a job too, then?"

"No, no. This is Sylvia - Sylvia, right?" Sylvia nodded. "Sylvia. From the Vault. Maybe you heard. Kid?" Snow crutched slowly out of the way, nodding for Sylvia to move forward and approach. Sylvia cut to the chase.

"Have you seen my father?" she asked. "Tall, greyish-brown hair, might've been wearing a lab coat. He has the voice of someone who could talk a manic depressive into being happy?" Sylvia made the hand gestured to match her sentences, but Snow couldn't help but think that was a strange thing to compare her dad's voice to. Moriarty turned more fully this time, eyes slightly squinted as he looked the girl over.

"Well, I'll be damned. You're James' little baby." His eyes were wide now, an almost manipulative smirk on his face. "Aye, I've seen your dad. You just missed him actually."

That was a lie, and Snow hoped they all knew it.

"Well... can you tell me where he is, or where he's going?" Sylvia asked, naïve hope badly-veiled on her features.

"Sure I can, girly. For a price." He was grinning now, but he still managed to look oh-so-casual.

"... How much?"

"100 caps. Friends and family discount."

"Are you kidding me?" Snow asked, visibly frustrated.

"Hey kid, information 'round here is part and parcel. Can't just give it to ya free."

"Yeah, well, screw that. I'm not paying, so you can forget we had this conversation." Snow whipped around as dramatically as she could manage, crutches creaking loudly in protest as they nearly fell apart just from the movement.

"Wait, what?" Sylvia was dumbfounded, concern and confusion on her face as she moved to follow her older companion. Moriarty shrugged, muttering something and turning back over the railing.

"Why aren't you paying him?" Sylvia asked, voice tight as she walked alongside the woman.

"Because I've got a better idea. Once that doesn't cost me my hard-earned caps."

The two made it off the platform, and around the back of the Saloon, to the back door.

"Keep watch," Snow commanded, and Sylvia obeyed. Snow set her crutches against the metal wall, grabbing something from her pocket and crouching, despite the pain it caused. Sylvia wasn't sure what was going on at first, but it soon became plain. She didn't like it, but she figured it was worth it to see what she had planned.

_Click._

"Hurry up, it's open." And with that, the two scrambled into the back of the Saloon.

"Be quiet," Snow whispered, setting her crutches down a second time as she sat at the wall-mounted terminal. Sylvia could hear people talking and laughing not eight feet away, through a door. Snow powered the terminal on, groaning as the screen filled up with obscure numbers and letter sequences, a very familiar sight for Sylvia.

"You any good with technology, kid?"

A wave of pride swelled up in her chest as she mentally confirmed, but at the same time she was frowning. It wouldn't feel right breaking into someone else's things just for some information. But... she really needed to know. So she nodded, taking the woman's seat.

"Okay... Give me a second," she whispered, beginning to hammer away at the keyboard. Moments later, a satisfactory ding rang out through the speakers.

"Got it. What am I looking for?"

"Any information on your dad. You know his name, 'less he used an alias here."

"Right..." That'd be just her luck. She began clicking away once again, and it was a good minute before she waded through the files into something valuable.

"I think this might be something," she announced, and Snow looked over her shoulder. Sylvia pulled up the entry under 'Visitors' - 'James (Vault 101)'.

"James, huh?" Snow questioned, honestly wondering how a name like 'Sylvia' came from a guy named 'James'. She shook her head, reading the entry with the girl.

**So, out of nowhere, James came back to Megaton. Since he stayed here before he asked me where the hell he could get a lay of the land and find out what's going on in the world. I told him about Galaxy News Radio in the ruins of D.C, and that guy Three Dog. Then like that, he was gone again.**

**I remember the first time he showed up almost twenty years ago. I never expected someone to actually want to or be able to get INTO a vault, but he must have had his reasons. He had his kid with him, some baby that wouldn't shut the fuck up. Normally I would have kicked someone like that out of my place, but he had a way with words. Then, like that, he ducks into Vault 101 and he's gone for almost twenty years. Nice guy, I guess, but never spends enough caps.**

Sylvia clicked the terminal off, looking... somewhat upset. Snow couldn't quite understand why.

"Did you get what you needed?" Snow asked, her voice hushed and tentative upon seeing the girl's face.

"He lied to me," Sylvia said, completely ignoring the question.

"What?"

"He lied to me. For nineteen years. He said I was born in the Vault, that he... that he was born in the..." She trailed off, sniffling quietly. Her head turned away, but it was fairly obvious to Snow that she was crying. Damn it.

"I... uh... I'm sure he had his reasons, kid."

"That doesn't matter! That entire time I was living a lie. Next I'll find out that my mother was a junkie or something..."

Snow cringed at the loudness of the girl's words, sure that someone heard them. She shifted on her crutches and tried ushering the girl out, speaking quietly as she did.

"I'm sure that's not true."

"And- how the hell would you know? You don't know him! Hell, I guess I don't even know him."

Snow hissed a bit at that point, completely on edge. "You said he was a doctor, right? I don't think a doctor would fuck a junkie, much less allow it to have his child." Well... actually... that seemed like the type of thing that Doc Church would do, now that she thought about it. Probably best not to share that thought with the good doctor.

Sylvia grumbled something inaudible but almost certainly hateful, shrugging the woman off as she climbed off the seat and just about stormed through the door. Jesus _Christ_. Snow followed close behind and they both made it out the door just before some ghoulish looking creature came through the other one, well on their way back to Snow's shack.


	3. Chapter 3: The Hills

"Do you... want to talk about it?" Snow asked, squirming slightly. Sylvia was sitting on the sofa with her face hidden, so luckily she couldn't see Snow's discomfort. She hated emotional talk. She guessed that she got that from her father, cold bastard that he was.

"No. Maybe. I don't know," Sylvia sighed, her voice both muffled and amplified by her cupped hands. A dust cloud still lingered in the air around the sofa from when she had dropped dramatically onto it.

"What is there to talk about?" Sylvia questioned rhetorically, after a while. _Good question._ "He could have told me the truth at any point during the last nineteen years of my life. And since he wasn't born there, it's not like the Overseer couldn't know about it. But he didn't. Then he left me behind, and I got all but forced out of the only home I ever knew."

Snow blinked. "Thought you told Doc Church that it was a crappy place."

"It was. The place had been infested with Radroaches for at least a decade, my bedroom was always either too hot or too cold with no happy medium, and my bed was incredibly lumpy..."

"Lumpy? Seriously? You didn't like the place because of some roaches, bad air-conditioning and _lumpy beds_?" It seemed somewhat ridiculous to complain about.

Sylvia sighed once again. "Anyway, crappy as it was, it was home. I had friends there, a job, I played baseball..."

"Wait - _you _played baseball?"

"Y...yes?"

"What was your position?"

"Designated hitter."

"No shit? How'd you swing that?"

Sylvia tried to ignore the obvious pun.  
"Uh, they had tryouts, and I... tried out."

"Damn. That easy? You look too scrawny to lift a carpentry hammer, let alone a bonafide hickory bat." Snow chuckled a little, trying to suppress the cough that came with it. Sylvia repeated the former gesture, despite herself.

"Obviously looks are deceiving. I led my team to victory for nine years in a row, before I graduated. I must've been doing something right."

Snow eyed the girl in silence, as if trying to decode her. She really was quite thin, but she still had the form of a woman, hard to see as it was under the baggy clothing she now wore.  
"How much do you weigh? A buck-five, soaking wet?"

"110, bone dry." Sylvia grinned. Snow shook her head, and for a moment it seemed like all the earlier tension had bled away.

"Well, kid... you ready to go find your dad?"

Sylvia sighed deeply. She was upset with her father, and it would take a long time for that feeling to go away. But she still loved him. To a fault, she always would.

"Yeah, I guess," she finally spoke. "But, I mean... are you even able to come with?" She gestured to the ragged crutches which barely kept the older woman upright where she stood.

"Oh, kid..." Snow shook her head a moment, an idle smile on her lips.  
"I've disobeyed the Doc's orders on much more severe things. Trust me when I say I'm good for it."

Sylvia didn't seem completely sold on the matter, but with a scrutinizing glance, she finally nodded.  
"When are we leaving, then?"

"Oh, hell. Tomorrow morning, at least." Snow ran a slightly dirty hand over her face. "I barely have the energy to desire a good bottle of whiskey. And I doubt you're still rosy-cheeked after all this shit today." She sighed. "Shooting your own leg really takes it out of you."

Sylvia smiled a little.  
"Alright, tomorrow morning. But I'll be waking you up whenever I fee like it."

Snow was the one who chuckled this time.  
"I wouldn't advise that, kid. I'm handsy and mean when woken up." _Just as my last two girlfriends..._

"I'm sure I can handle it," Sylvia grinned. "Is there a place I can sleep for tonight?"

"Ah..." Snow clicked her tongue. "There's an old bed up in the storeroom. It ain't exactly comfortable, but it'll do, I'm sure. It's the door to the right of my bedroom - I trust you remember where that is." She grinned a little, and Sylvia couldn't help but to blush.

"Anyway, I'm gonna get some sleep. Try not to steal all my food and caps while I'm down; God knows I don't need that shit again," Snow sighed, disappearing up the stairs.

After she was done questioning that last line, Sylvia climbed the stairs as well. She found the room easily, and shut the rickety door behind her as she entered.

The room was rather full - three tall and deep metal shelves lived the walls, lined then with boxes of food, bottles of water, magazines, med kits. As she took another glance around, she spotted lots of whiskey - at least _fifteen _whole bottles. And squeezed against the north wall of the room was a little metal cot, as promised. Something that looked like it was once a red blanket laid over the grayed and spotted mattress, a sack or something of the sort at one end.

With a tired sigh, Sylvia sat on the edge. As per years of conditioning, sh etook off her boots and placed them neatly and very precisely beside the cot, laces stuffed behind the tongue. She then crawled under the old blanket. Daniels was right - the bed sucked ass, but it was probably better than the floor.

* * *

Sylvia woke with a start. Her breath was ragged, a little bit of sweat dampening her blonde fringe. For a moment, she had no idea where she was. There was no smell of disinfectant - though it might have been preferred - no humming of the air system... no sound of her father talking to himself in the other room. What she did hear was some indistinct sleep-speech and loud metal clattering.

_Oh._ That's where she was.

Groaning from the pain that hit her as the fear drained from her mind, Sylvia clutched at her ribs as she got out of bed. Trying to ignore the slight bowing of the floor beneath her, she padded down the stairs to the kitchen, bare toes curled in response to the likely unclean scrap-metal she stepped on.

She didn't find much of anything that was really edible - well, anything she really wanted to eat. After some more searching, it seemed like a wrinkly box of Mac &amp; Cheese with a side of probably-beef-related-chunks was what's for breakfast.

With a little trial and error and the frustrating task of reattaching the stove's top grittle, Sylvia got the food cooked. Sucking on a finger burn, she climbed the stairs and once again entered her comapnion's room without knocking. It gave her a moment to take in the environment that was the woman's room, now that she wasn't being distracted by half-nakedness.

Daniels' room didn't quite... match her perceived personality, not really. Actual books and intelligent journals and literature were stacked on the metal desk around an old terminal, alongside at least a dozen coffee cups and cigarette packs. Pencil stumps littered the area, and a pile of what appeared to be hand-drawn maps laid in one corner. The room was, to put it simply, interesting, what with the rope-suspended radio above the bed, the Nuka-Cola truck on the filing cabinet, and the badly torn series of flags nailed to the wall.

A loud snore took Sylvia's attention from the room and placed it on her original objective.

"Hey, wake up."

Snow didn't even stir, laying face-down in the pillow. If not for the snoring, Sylvia would worry she had died in her sleep.

"_Daniels_! Wake up!" She definitely stirred that time. With some indistinct garbling, Snow woke up. She flailed somewhat as her brain tried to wake up, and in doing so she hit her foot on the filing cabinet, which, in turn, shot pain up her leg.

"_Ohmotherfucker_," Snow groaned, cradling her leg. Sylvia's face twisted up into worry, and she began to wish she had woken the woman up with more tact and delicacy.

Amongst a few more profanities, Snow rolled back and forth on the mattress for a short while before finally settling down, releasing a deep sigh into the air. She looked over at Sylvia. Even with the previous bout of evident paint, she didn't seem fully awake.

"What time is it?" She asked, her words slurring. Sylvia checked her Pip-Boy needlessly, as she had woken up on instinct at the same exact time since she was old enough to go to school.

"5:30."

"Damn... I haven't woken up this early in... at least a year? Probably at least five, actually." She sighed again, rubbing a hand over her face and swearing as she did. That broken cheekbone was a hell of a thing.

"Grab me some Med-X, would you? There should be a couple syringes in that top desk drawer." Sylvia nodded, moving over to the desk. She pulled open the drawer with some effort, trying not to react to the sheer amount of meds inside. As requested, she fished out a syringe, noting how unsanitary this probably was.

With a grateful yet indistinct grumble, Snow accepted the medication, injecting it into her vein in no time, like a practiced pro. She let out a breath of relief. A few moments of silence passed then.

"What's that smell?" She finally asked.

"Oh! Mac and cheese, and... some... _meaty _chunks." Snow lifted her head once again to look at Sylvia in surprise.

"You made breakfast?"

"Uh... yes. I hope you don't mind?"

"Hell... no," her head dropped back down to the pillow. "Nobody's made me breakfast in a long time. Though, to be fair, women rarely last through the night."

An uncertain smile grew on Sylvia's face, as she didn't have the good sense to know that Snow was referring to sexual partners.

"Right. Well, I'll be downstairs. Come down when you're ready." And with that, she departed. It wasn't until about fifteen minutes later that Snow finally came down. She must've bathed, SYlvia thought, as her hair had a glossy look to it, the dirt eradicated from her arms and hands. Despite this, all Sylvia could think about was how cold the food was probably getting.

Snow sat down without a word, digging into the food with even less than that. Sylvia followed suit after a couple bites, almost choking when the silence was finally broken.

"God, this tastes **amazing**! Did they teach you how to cook in that fancy Vault of yours?"

"Mm... Sort of. Preserved food assembly and presentation was part of the Home Economics class the girls took. We didn't really have raw meat that didn't come from a roach."

"Real appetizing, kid."

"Sorry."

The two ate in silence until the food was gone, and Snow directed Sylvia to the 'plate disposal' area afterward.

"I might have you stick around just so you can cook for me every morning. Good God, I could get used to this," Snow said, already nursing a bottle of whiskey on the couch. Sylvia began to wonder if the woman had an addiction problem. Despite this, she smiled.

"Not that I'm completely opposed to that, but I've been told that I'm remarkably high-maintence."

"The technically effortless meal would be worth it."

They bantered aimlessly for a while, as their food settled.

"We ready to go?" Sylvia finally asked, tying up her boots which she had earlier retrieved. Snow barely looked up in response.

"What time is it?"

"About twenty to seven."

"Seven? God..." she yawned, taking a last sip of whiskey.  
"Alright. Let me get my stuff together. You got any weapons?"

"A switchblade."

With a nod, Snow crutched up the stairs, descending again better geared up five or so minutes later. She was now wearing some sort of leather armor, a cloth bandana concealing a majority of her black hair. She crutched over to the locker lined with weapons, opening it up.

"You okay to handle a pistol?" She asked, pulling out a 10mm and looking it over.

"Never shot one before," Sylvia admitted. Snow gave her a curious look.

"They didn't have any sort of weapons training in case of catastrophe?"

"Only the officers. But... I've had a BB gun since I was ten, if that counts?"

"Alright... pretty much the same idea; just point, and shoot. Here's a few magazines. Eject the empty one with this button..." Snow ran her through the crash-course for pistol shooting after a few moments.

"Just, try to avoid shooting me in the back or anywhere else, please." She went back to the locker, pulling a creaky assault rifle out of the bottom shelf. After loading up a few more magazines and packing a spare box of ammo, she grabbed some food, water, meds and made her way to the door, leaving the crutches against the wall.

"Let's go, kid."

* * *

"So, what's going on with that bomb?" Sylvia asked, an ounce of uncertainty in her voice as the two walked towards the front gate. "Is it live?"

Snow nodded, not bothering to glance at it. "Been here longer than I have - than any of us have, really."

Sylvia seemed unsettled, and perhaps rightly so. "That - you're saying it could go off at any moment, then?"

"I guess. Old explosives tend to be pretty volatile." Sylvia shuddered. "You see those raggedy people crowding around the crater? They worship that thing as their God. If it blows up, they'll accept it as rapture. Hell, they'll probably be the ones to cause it."

They continued in silence once more until they ran into Lucas Simms again at the gate.

"You girls are lookin' much finer now, if I may say so," he lilted, smile far too wide for how early in the morning it was. "Now, I never did get a chance to properly introduce myself to you, young lady," he nodded at Sylvia. "Name's Lucas Simms, and I run this town." He tilted his hat over his eyes in greeting, just in time to miss Snow rolling her eyes.

Sylvia, however, smiled, bowing her own head in response, despite the minor neck pain it caused. "Sylvia Hitchcock - nice to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine, miss." He winked, placing his hat back in its original place before glancing at Snow, who was standing crookedly.

"I see our resident troublemaker has caught you in her web. What did she talk you into helping her with this time?" The sentence was said with no shortage of sourness, though he did fairly well to conceal it.

Snow's lips drew back into a thin line in response to that, but she remained silent.

"Actually, she's helping me. Saved my life. If it weren't for her, I'd probably be dead or in a cage, I imagine."

It was with some amount of suspicion that Sheriff Simms looked back over at Snow, as though he wasn't quite sure what to think of that.

If she was being honest, Snow didn't know what to think of it either.

"Well..." He cleared his throat, nodding. "You ladies try and be careful." He tipped his hat a final time before walking away from the two.

They exited the town without much trouble past that. There was a guy by the gate begging for some pure water, and Snow had to practically tranquillize Sylvia to stop the girl from handing everything over to him.

Beyond that, their journey continued uneventfully.

"So, do you know where, uh, Galaxy... Radio..." Sylvia struggled with the memory of the location for a moment, her hand making a circular motion in front of her, deftly mimicking the whirring cogs within her head.

"Where Galaxy News Radio is?" Snow finished. "Yeah. I've got a vague idea, anyway. Can't know exactly where it is without some kind of a map or compass."

Sylvia blinked, peering at her old Pip-Boy 3000. She'd all but forgotten about it. "I think I may have a solution for that problem," she muttered, powering on the slightly dusty screen. In a moment, after some low whirring, a cartoonish figure of a boy in a Vault suit appeared over a dark green background. Six bars around each respective limb, torso and head followed suit. All of which depleted a small bit after a moment.

"What've you got there?" Snow asked, a bit uncomfortable in the presence of it as she glanced over. She hadn't had much opportunity to familiarize herself with Vault-Tec gadgets, as many Vaults in the D.C. Wasteland were either too irradiated or collapsed to enter.

"Pip-Boy," Sylvia replied, clearly distracted as she flicked a knob on the side every which way. "Got it for my tenth birthday. If the tracker is capable of recalibrating out here-" She paused a moment, scrolling over to the map. "I can see at least this section of the state."

"Fancy."

A few moments passed before an electronic beep sounded from the device, coupled with a "Got it." Snow drifted over after a quick once-over of their surroundings, gazing down at the Pip-Boy.

"Alright. All that I've got marked on this is Vault 101, Springvale, and..." Her eyebrows creased a bit. "Megaton. That's odd. How would it pick that up?" Sylvia looked over to Snow for an answer, who only shrugged. "Hm. Well, any idea where Galaxy News might be?"

Not so gently, Snow grabbed the girl's wrist and pulled it closer to her own face, earning a quiet grunt from the kid.

"Let's see... Oh, is this us? That's neat. D.C.'s over here, probably... because Rivet City's right around here, so..." She trailed off for a few paces, muttering under her breath as she worked out the locations, clicking her tongue with each she discovered. "Probably right around here?" She decided, pointing.

With a nod, Sylvia turned the knobs until it rested where she pointed. A couple more clicks and a marker was set, with a green dotted line marking the quickest path.

"Man. What else does that little gadget do?"

With a small smirk, Sylvia twisted the dials around again, demonstrating the vitals tracker, Geiger Counter, dehydration meter, equipment tracker, radio system and all that lovely jazz. And then, they landed on the 'Notes' tab.

"Oh, what's that?" Snow asked, pointing like a curious child to an unopened file labelled "Note from Dad". It seemed to have a sound file attached. Sylvia frowned, lips pursing together. After a moment, she activated it. A section of static, and then a male voice flowed from the speaker.

"**Hold on Jonas, I need to record this first**."

"**I... I don't really know how to tell you this. I hope you'll understand, but I know you might be angry. I thought about it for a long time, but in the end I decided it was best for you not to know. So many things could have gone wrong and there's really no telling how the Overseer will react when he finds out. It's best if he can blame everything on me. Obviously, you already know that I'm gone. It was something I needed to do. You're an adult now. You're ready to be on your own. Maybe someday things will change and we can see each other again. I can't tell you why I left or where I'm going. I don't want you to follow me. God knows life in the Vault isn't perfect, but at least you'll be safe. Just knowing that will be enough to keep me going**."

"**Don't mean to rush you, Doc, but I'd feel better if we got this over with**," urged a second, more nasally voice.

"**Okay. Go ahead. Goodbye... I love you**-"

A click. And the speakers went quiet. The two had long since quit moving, a deeper, sadder frown on Sylvia's face now. Eventually, Snow broke the growing silence.

"How did this get on here?"

"I... I didn't know it ever did. You have to... manually insert a holotape to a slot and wait for it to download before it'll save... And I never did that, I don't think."

She remembered most of the Vault escape. It wasn't so much a blur as it was a product of auto-pilot. Ever since she got the news from Amata that her dad had left, some things just... weren't absorbed to the same extent as others. She remembered the officers shooting at her when she was in sight. She remembered the Radroaches. Jonas dead on the floor, his favourite lab coat a sickly red, coloured to match his face. She remembered all of that, but never picking up a holotape.

"Maybe Dad saved it in there. While I was asleep, before he... left."

And now, though Snow could hear the pain in the girl's voice, and see her new tears as plain as day, she couldn't give in to it. They were far enough from Megaton to be in a vulnerable position, and so it would be unwise to stand still long enough to calm the kid down. She sighed, fidgeting her gun in her hands.

"Let's figure it out when we get somewhere safe, okay? Do you want to go back to Megaton?" The question was answered not with words, but with quivering shoulders and muted sniffles. Snow nodded, taking that as a 'yes'. She then clasped a hand around the girl's bicep, aiming to guide her along back to the town, only to have her hand shrugged off. Sylvia mumbled something incoherent as a result of the movement.

"What was that?" Snow asked.

"I said 'don't touch me,'" the girl replied, voice wobbly and uneven.

The older woman's eyebrows furrowed a moment. She had to admit that she only heard that line in the Saloon when she'd had too many bottles of Vodka.

"Uh... well, we've got to get a move on, then," she replied, her hand pressing against the girl's back as an unconscious, familiar movement for when you wanted to urge someone forward.

A crack bit through the air as flesh met flesh. Everything else in the world seemed to go silent - and perhaps it had.

Snow stood deadly still, jaw clenched, as bright red spread across her right cheek. Both their hands were still raised, one because of minor shock, the other because every muscle in her body had become rigid. It felt like pieces of her broken bone had been lodged into the facial tissue, and it did not make Snow one bit happy.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She growled, cringing with every word as she began dropping her arm back to her side and regulating the position of her head.

"I - I just-" Sylvia struggled to find the words, panic briefly sprouting in her eyes.

"You - you just what?! I give you a place to sleep, food to eat - I saved your goddamn life and this is what you do? Decide to give me the old five-finger rejection because what, the feelings are too much to bear?" Her face had definitely gone much redder, and it wasn't just from the slap.

"I... well... I told you not to- to touch me." Sylvia's voice was a higher pitch now, and meek, a consistent side effect of being the object of Snow's anger.

"Oh, really? Really? I was trying to steer you the fuck on since apparently you can't use your words like an adult and tell me what the hell you want to do without crying like a little kid!"

"I'm not a little kid! Stop calling me that! I'm nineteen, and... and I am not overemotional!" Despite her state of not being a little kid, she couldn't maintain eye-contact and fought to keep the tears from flowing even harder.

"What's nineteen when you've just crawled out of an air-conditioned tin can? You haven't seen shit, you have no life experience, so don't go trying to tell me you're some kind of an adult. You don't know the first thing about it."

Sylvia inhaled shakily, crossing her arms over her chest now. "Who are you to say that?! I had to see one of my best friends dead on the floor because of some shitty Overseer, and I had to deal with loud punks all my life, and the guards were assholes, and-" Snow was quick to silence the girl, her bruised hands twisting the collar of the girl's suit. A fire raged in her eyes, twisted her usually neutral expression into something so... horrible. It was more than just pain from being slapped now. Her voice was harder when she spoke again.

"Boo-fucking-hoo. Only a third of those 'life experiences' were worth mentioning - don't you see you're fucking lucky? For every little inconvenience you had, I had the entire goddamned Wasteland. Roving groups of savage rapists, cannibals, looters. I had a lazy fucking manwhore as a father, who made me watch as he fucked other women. You think you're such a cursed, tragic little girl. Wait until you spend a few years out here."

Ice creeping through her veins, Snow finally removed her hands from the girl's collar. Attempting to recompose herself, she turned and walked a couple of paces away. In a quick, familiar movement, she pulled a small bottle of whiskey from a holster on her hip, taking a long swig from it. Sylvia stood where she had been for a while now, eyes wide fearful, arms still tightly crossed. It was a few moments before anyone spoke again.

"With or without you, I'm going into D.C. If you manage to grow up a little in the time it takes to get there, you can tag along," Snow spoke, voice hard as she holstered her whiskey and unholstered her pistol, starting along the dusty plains without so much as a second glance toward Sylvia.

After a few feet, Snow heard a set of footsteps catch up behind her.

* * *

The journey down the hill was quiet, save for the collective footsteps. Sylvia made sure of the silence. Not even her fierce pride would stop her from even breathing quietly so as to avoid invoking her fiery companion's rage once more. Her footfalls tried hard to be equally as silent, but the hard terrain paired with the gritty soles of her black boots made such efforts impossible.

And she wasn't subtle about her efforts either. Snow was almost disappointed to see such submissive behaviour in the younger girl, and she wasn't sure why.

"The weather out here's alright, I'll give it that." The sentence was said so quietly that one would initially hear it as a personal thought spoken to oneself. But there was an ounce of something in it that made it conversational. And yet, Snow barely spared her a glance.

"It's alright, sure," Snow agreed after a moment. And that was that, despite Sylvia's hopeful stare. But without a further response, she soon gave up.

Pebbles crunched underfoot as the pair trudged on, and Snow couldn't help but notice how quiet it was. This far from Megaton - over a mile now - there was usually some sort of enemy on the path, be it a Radroach, a feral dog, a molerat or a raider. It was odd, and Snow wasn't quite sure she liked it. So she kept cautious, aiming around with her gun every so often.

"So where are you from?" Sylvia eventually asked. She had an idea of American geography, but it wasn't a knowledge she ever thought she'd need.

"A shithole about sixty-some miles southeast."

"Oh. Um... do- did you have any family over there? Besides-" She cringed slightly, regretting asking the question. "Besides your father?"

"Probably have some younger brothers and sisters somewhere. Mom died from an infection three days after giving birth to me. Had a brother, he was sixteen years older than me."

"Do you still talk to him?" Sylvia asked, optimistically ignoring the past tense referral.

"I ain't a shaman, kid. Penn was raped and killed when I was three, so my dad says."

Sylvia clammed right up, and Snow was glad. She hated talking about herself almost as much as she hated feeling thirsty. Speaking of which...

She grabbed out her flask and took a nice, long swig. Gunfire rang out about twenty feet away, and she damn near swallowed her tongue.

"What was that?" Sylvia questioned, fear obvious in her voice no matter how she tried to conceal it. For once, Snow almost thought the girl had asked a half-decent question.

"Sounds like it's coming from the parking lot." Snow put her whiskey away and slid quietly along the yellowed brick of the Super-Duper Mart after they'd drawn closer, stopping before she reached the corner. The shots were much louder now, and through the chaotic noise seemed to come a barking sound. That, and some pretty vile profanities.

"Get that pistol out, kid," she ordered, lifting her own firearm up to eye level.

Sylvia struggled to retrieve the hunk of metal. It slipped out of her hands. Misfired.

"Christ! Why isn't that on safety?!" Snow barked, shooting a seething glare over her shoulder at the girl, who now - shakily - held the gun in both hands.

"I'm sorry! God, I didn't know it wasn't-"

Snow blew out a harsh breath, cutting her off quickly as she shook her head. "Just stay quiet so we don't get shot."

Snow's back settled against the brick, the adrenaline in her body effectively numbing her leg. Sylvia followed suit, sliding against the wall, breath coming out loud enough to wake the dead. Snow peeked over the edge. A group of Raiders were fighting what looked to be a pack of mangy dogs. So that's where all the trouble was.

In.  
Out.  
In.  
Out.  
In.

Snow slapped a hand over Sylvia's mouth, silencing her.

"What are you, a deep-sea diver? You didn't just run a fucking marathon, Jesus!"

A muffled noise.

Snow lifted her hand for a moment. "What?"

"I said sorry. I've never been one for stealth."

"Might've shared that little tidbit with me before we left Megaton. I could've grabbed a couple Stealth-Boys."

"What's a Stealth-Boy?"

Snow shushed her with a finger, peeking around the corner after a bout of silence. Three dogs now lay dead on the asphalt, a group of three raiders now hacking at their bodies. Snow frowned. Dog meat didn't taste that good. Hell, it wasn't even very filling. Regardless, she aimed her pistol at the nearest of the sitting ducks, lining up what looked like a headshot.

**Pop**. Gargle. _Thump_.

Crimson flowed free from a gaping hole in the raider's neck as he flopped wildly on the ground. After a moment he shuddered. Stopped. The other two had been alerted almost immediately, and they too now stood with weapons drawn. The remaining man walked in one direction, the woman in the other. Abuse had already started spilling from their mouths.

"... empty your eyes out, then fuck the holes..."  
"... shit down your throat..."

Sylvia was visibly terrified. Snow was unfazed.

"Watch the other side," Snow whispered, gesturing loosely at the back end of the supermarket. Anxiously, Sylvia obeyed, fidgeting like a Jet addict all the while.

"Kid, if you get any louder California will be able to hear you. Sit still!" Sylvia sucked in a large breath, holding it. She stilled, slightly. Snow peeked around the corner again. The female was getting close to their position, nearly spotting Snow as she looked around. The male was a little further away, a spiked bat held in both hands. Snow ducked back against the wall, listening to the offbeat footsteps closely.

One.  
One.  
Two.  
Drag.  
Two.  
Two.  
One.

On that last step, Snow lowered her gun. She waited for the raider to nearly turn the corner before lashing out her free arm, coiling it quickly around the raider's filthy neck. The woman struggled, stupidly dropping her gun and shouting out.

"Vie?!" The male raider called out, feet scraping the asphalt as he stopped. Snow held her pistol to the woman's head, ignoring her clawing and Sylvia's horrified disposition. She slowly moved away from the building into the parking lot. The woman writhed, naturally, but Snow's grip proved too solid to resist.

"Wh- Daniels!" Sylvia called, voice hushed and urgent. The man almost seemed to growl as Snow stepped into view, his dark right hand clutching tightly what seemed to be a weak Chinese pistol, his bat hanging over his back now. Chinese pistols had very little firepower, and Snow doubted if the raider was a good enough shot to avoid hitting his companion, or whatever it was the filthy creatures called each other.

"Are you going to drop the gun, or will I have to shoot her?" Snow asked, index finger rubbing at the trigger.

"Go 'head," he replied, pistol unwavering. She realized now that his hand was shaking slightly, but she wasn't sure if that was due to nerves or drugs.

"Really, asshole?!" Her captive - Vie - yelled. In response, Snow tightened her grip around her neck, earning a satisfying gag in response.

"Come now. I'm sure it's difficult to find someone to fuck that you don't need to force," Snow growled. "Though I'm sure you have your dogs for that, 's'well."

"Shut up," he bit, shifting his gun in his hand. A few moments passed in silence before Snow began to get annoyed.

"I'll give you a little incentive. Five... Four... Three..." With each number, she pressed the gun in a little bit harder.

"Fine." Begrudgingly and with palpable irritation, he dropped - or rather, flung - the pistol to the ground. "Now give 'er here."

Snow sucked in through her teeth, as though she was considering that.

"Nah, that's okay."

**Pop**, _click_. His body fell with a groan. Rattle, _**pop**_. The other one fell at her feet. With a bored sniff, she kicked the woman's body away, wiping the blood off her pistol with the side of her hand as she started walking back - trying to ignore the ringing in her right ear - toward Sylvia, who stood frozen in place with a horrified expression.

"What - what was that?!" Sylvia finally asked, voice shaky and annoyingly shrill as Snow approached.

"What was what?" Snow replied, wiping off her face now.

"Why did you kill them like that?"

"Shooting them? Kid, I think even you can realize this gun isn't just to keep my hip warm." Sylvia frowned at that.

"I'm not stupid. I just don't see why you need to be so brutal."

Snow chuckled, grabbing out her whiskey and taking a drink. "The wasteland's a brutal place. They're not gonna just die if you ask them nicely."

Sylvia huffed. "Quit talking down to me, I realize that. Just..." She sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Never mind. Are we gonna keep going?"

"Dunno. Might check out the supermarket before we head off again, see what's what. You game?" She looked at Sylvia expectantly, spinning the cap back onto her whiskey and putting it away.

Sylvia sighed again, more annoyed this time. "Is there gonna be more killing?"

"Most likely."

"Great." She pressed her palm against her temple, rubbing for a moment. '_At this point, you don't really have much of a choice, do you_?' She thought. "Alright. Sure. Why not?" Her tone was dripping with reluctance.

"That's the spirit. Still got your pistol?"

"Yup."

"Right. Let's go, then. And, kid? Try to breathe quietly this time." Snow began walking, and Sylvia followed - not without rolling her eyes a little.

* * *

The entryway of the store was pretty standard. Light flooded through the windows as best it could through the wooden boards. Rusty carts laid stacked up on a cluttered floor across from a Nuka-Cola machine. The room ahead was sparsely lit, but Sylvia could easily imagine it in its Pre-War state, thanks to old propaganda films in the Vault. Frowning, she quickly dashed that thought away.

"You'll want to step as lightly as possible, and avoid any illuminated areas. Might be more Raiders in here who are on edge now."

"If they heard you, wouldn't they have come out?"

"No. They won't reveal themselves for no reason, unless they really want to." Snow crouched down, and Sylvia did the same as they both began creeping forward. As they advanced, the sound of echoing footsteps stopped them dead. A few moments after the store fell silent, they began moving once more. They kept to the left as they walked, Snow guiding herself with the rickety old shelves.

Crick-clang.

"What did you hit?" Snow hissed, pausing.

"Nothing, I swear."

"Then what was that noise?"

A hacking cough not far to their left answered that question. The two women quickly back-pedalled to a shelf they had passed.

"How did you not see him?!" Sylvia demanded, in as much of a shout as her volume could manage.

"I don't know," Snow muttered.

"What?!"

"I said, I don't know! Are you deaf?"

Sylvia huffed, rather sharply. "Maybe you would've seen him if you hadn't been drinking all day."

"Oh, fuck off, I'm not drunk. You think I would drink so often if I thought it would weaken me?" This was neither the time nor the place to argue, but Sylvia persisted.

"I wouldn't be surprised. You're not the sharpest tool in the box."

Snow growled, quickly turning with an accusatory finger raised.

"Hey, dude!"

The voice came from the girls' left, and stopped Snow mid-turn.

"What?" Came from their right, a much deeper voice.

"Y'wanna shoot a little?"

"Can't. Jack'd have my dick 'n balls, gotta stay up here."

"_C'mon_. Ain't like anyone's gonna bust in, guns blazing. Just one?"

The tone of the raider's last sentence was suggestive enough for Snow to raise her eyebrows at Sylvia. After a moment of silence, the raider to their right side sighed, and the metallic sound of walking followed shortly after.

"Shit... press up against the shelf more," Snow instructed, advice they both took. They crunched under the bottom shelf as tightly as two grown women could. Thankfully, Sylvia managed to keep her breathing at a semi-human level.

Click-  
Clack-  
Click-  
Clack-  
Scritch, scritch-  
Clack-  
Click-

The steps grew increasingly louder, until the two women could see a large man turn the corner of shelves about ten feet from where they were. Snow held her breath, freezing as much as she could. Sylvia, on the other hand, had trouble with that. Snow could feel the girl's breath against her neck. Snow allowed herself a mental image of punching the girl in the face.

The junkie turned the corner once more without acknowledging them, and Snow thanked her lucky stars.

"Don't got much time," the newly-arrived Raider stated.

"That's fine. Won't take long." With that, the two women heard indistinct mumbling, the quiet shuffling of clothing, and a slightly less-quiet sucking sound.

"What're they doing?" Sylvia asked, voice barely audible. Snow shifted, shuffling forward just slightly, so as to see down the hallway. The larger raider had his back to them, but Snow could see the other one kneeling in front of him, on the other side. Swiftly, she moved back into place.

"Think one's giving the guy a blowjob," she whispered, a distinct tone of disgust in her voice.

"A what?" Sylvia asked.

"A blo- Christ... nevermind. I'm not getting into sexual terminology with you right now." Snow sighed, rubbing at her temples. "Anyway, I have an idea, so keep quiet." She checked her pistol in what little light she had before moving forward once again. The standing junkie's head was tilted back now, and it seemed to be the perfect shot. She raised her gun up to eye level, and sucked in a breath as she aimed. Silently, she counted.

One. Two. Three.  
**Pop**.

A sick crack rang through the hall, and the raider crumbled in one himself, hitting the floor hard. The other raider, still kneeling, let out some mixture of a surprised yelp and gag, promptly falling back on his arse. Still in a cloud of confusion, he fumbled for his gun.

**Pop.**  
**Pop**.

His body thumped onto the floor beside the other, and that was the end of it.

"See anyone back there?" Snow asked, taking a quick peek around her field of vision. After a glance about, Sylvia responded with a simple 'no'. With that, Snow crawled away from the metal shelving and stood up, straightening her armor before setting down the hall. With far less grace, Sylvia followed suit. As they traversed the dim corridor, the quiet but distinct sound of agonized groaning became audible.

"Y- you didn't kill him?!" Sylvia all but shrieked, something of concern and annoyance in her expression.

"Thought I had. Don't get your panties in a twist over it," Snow sighed, cocking her pistol once more as they drew closer. The raider doing the sucking was writhing in a pool of his own off-color blood, hands weakly clutching at the two holes under his collarbone. Groaning, Snow looked over at the filthy corpse with its sad little dick still hanging out before looking back at the still-living one, disgust obvious on her features.

"Really is a disgusting act. To be honest, I'm doing you a favor; you won't have to live with the memory." With her mouth still turned down, she lifted her pistol once more.

**Pop**.

* * *

**AN: **Alright. Yeah, it took me three months to shell this crap out. One thing to remember about me is that time ≠ quality. I'm very bad about procrastinating, and sometimes the inspiration just doesn't come to me for the longest time. But, I do plan to ride this out to the very end, whenever that may be. The fourth chapter might come quicker, as I sliced a bit off the end of this so it wouldn't be yet another month until the chapter came. I figured the couple of people who actually like this story are still waiting, so, here it is. Enjoy.

Once again, very special thanks to SurprisinglyOdd, my wonderful Beta. If I didn't have someone to hold me even somewhat accountable, this story would be all over the place.


	4. Chapter 4: Super-Duper Mart

Sylvia retched for a third time into the trashcan, knuckles white from the strength of her grip on its sides. Snow kept her distance, rifling through a fresh corpse underfoot as her companion dry heaved violently. "How can you stand so close?!" She asked, her voice slightly amplified by the trashcan.

"It's not as bad as you're making it out to be, kid." She barely spared her young accomplice a second glance as she continued to root around the dead raider's pockets. "It's just survival, y'know? Do whatcha gotta do and all." She shrugged, pocketing a handful of 10mm bullets. "How about you spend a little less time puking your guts up and a little more time watching my back?

Sylvia turned her head to shoot Snow a glare. Big mistake. The sight of the fresh corpse in her peripheral vision, the sight of its splattered brain matter was enough to send Sylvia into another violent fit of vomiting. Snow wasn't sympathetic - she even laughed just a little bit.

"At this rate, you're not gonna have enough left in your stomach to sustain you the rest of the day. Might as well give it a rest now." She holstered her pistol just long enough to give the corpse a few extra pats. After searching the second one and coming up with only a few chems, she straightened. "You gonna get it together, or will I have to leave you here?"

Sylvia groaned, wiping at her mouth and taking a deep breath as she pulled herself up. "I think I'm alright now."

"Try not to think about spilled brain matter," Snow commented as they stepped on through the bathroom door.

After another bout of gagging, Sylvia began to get a hold of herself. The smell of the bathroom didn't much help with the nausea, but she managed to keep the remaining contents of her stomach where they belonged. All the while, Snow busied herself by rooting around the yellowed and crusty sinks, popping open bottles and squinting at their makeshift labels written roughly in pencil.

"Start looking through the stalls for somethin' useful," she ordered, mixing pills of the same sort into one container before pocketing it all. Sylvia nodded and did as she was asked. The smell of piss and shit - both old and new - hit her hard. Shielding her nose with her hand didn't stop her eyes watering and her stomach heaving. As soon as the scent hit her tongue she was doubled over and puking bile over the stall.

"Good grief, kid. If I knew you were gonna be this bad, I'd've left you in Megaton. How'd you get through breakfast with such a weak stomach?"

"I don't have a weak stomach," she defended, despite the frothy yellow substance dribbling down her chin. "I'm – I'm just-" She slammed the stall door shut behind her. "I'm just not accustomed to the smell of excrement." Snow shook her head as Sylvia wiped the bile off her chin and nose. There was the ghost of a smile on her face, either derisive or amused.

After Sylvia finally got herself together, she aided Snow in looting the two bathrooms and even helped her pick some things out of the trashcan. While Snow put everything together, Sylvia stood at the end of the hall and pretended to keep a lookout. In actuality, she was spaced out and wondering where she could find some decent clothing. A rough pat on the shoulder shook her from those thoughts.

"Ready to keep going?" Snow asked. "Shouldn't be many rooms left."

Freshly knocked back onto Earth, she reluctantly agreed and followed her companion along the far left wall. Aside from the occasional shock of dull fluorescent light, they remained mostly in shadow. The sound of metallic footsteps got louder and louder until finally they spotted the source: a rough-looking woman likely composed of more dirt and waste than human organic matter was crossing one of the rickety boards mounted atop the shelves. Her bright hair was oddly patchy, as if she had some kind of disease. There was an assault rifle at her back.

"Think we can sneak past?" Sylvia whispered, hoping to avoid another dead body today.

"We'd be dead before we knew what hit us," Snow replied. "You're not exactly the stealthiest."

"Another fight then?"

"Looks like it."

Sylvia sighed.

"I've still got a bit of whiskey at the shack if you need some help sleepin' tonight," Snow offered uselessly. She inched her way back down along the wall, following the raider's path with her weapon. She aimed for her back, steadying herself and pulling the trigger.

The shot went wide.

The raider jumped in alarm and whipped around with her gun at the ready, shooting at the first thing she saw. Her aim was slightly off, but Snow wasn't about to risk being caught by a ricochet. She ran back along the wall to a terrified-looking Sylvia.

"It's gonna be a boon seeing you go up against a Mirelurk if you're this bad with a few lousy raiders," Snow said, but the joke didn't come with a smile. Sylvia barely had time to respond before a cry of _'over here!'_ came from atop the shelves.

"Shit. Okay, we can manage this. Kid, you stay over here. Fire only when you get a good shot - I don't need you wasting my bullets."

"Wait- what are you doing now?!" Sylvia hissed.

Snow didn't answer. She waved her off and crossed the aisle to the mess of shelves and carts while Sylvia swallowed the lump in her throat. After a few moments, she appeared again atop the shelves. The female raider heard the commotion and knew exactly where to fire. The bullet that snapped by Snow's head damn near knocked her off her feet. The second sliced hotly through the side of her arm, leaving a long but shallow cut in its wake. She hissed in pain and pulled the trigger, hitting the raider's leg.

A loud shot rang out. For a moment, Snow was convinced she'd been killed. The bleeding raider looked almost as shocked as Snow did, right before she toppled to the ground. Snow looked over to Sylvia, finding the girl's gun still uncertainly raised. She made her way over and gave a hard clap to shake the terrified girl from her trance. Naturally, her gun clattered to the floor.

"You're going to get us both killed if you don't get your shit together!"

"Do you think I'm used to this?" Sylvia hissed. "I never had to murder people in the Vault, you know!"

"Poor, waify Vault Girl," she mocked, retrieving the fallen weapon and returning it to its owner. "Now, if you can keep your head on straight, I'm going to need your cover. We're gonna get creamed by those other guys if we can't wipe them out quickly."

"O- Okay, yeah. I think I can handle it."

"If I die, it's your ass. Move over there." She pointed at one of the shelves, where Sylvia obediently wobbled. Snow followed, fishing through her belongings for a moment and producing a grenade. She handed it to Sylvia. "Only use this if I'm in a bad spot and you can't get out any cover fire. Never before." Sylvia nodded. After that transaction was done, Snow edged a little closer to the source of footsteps. A volley of gunfire erupted suddenly.

A bullet whizzed past Sylvia's head, effectively stunning her and moving her back into her hiding spot. She was too afraid to look back out as the sound of struggling escalated. It sounded like Snow was getting involved in a physical altercation in addition to the gunfire. Sylvia took a sharp breath, pulling the pin on the grenade and lobbing it towards the fight. An explosion shook the building, knocking items from the shelves.

Screwing up what was left of her energy, she picked herself up off the floor and used the half-collapsed metal shelf to guide her way through the huge puff of dirt and dust. Her foot hit something wet and soft, and she tried to swat away the settling dust in order to see it. Once it cleared a bit, it came to her attention that her boot was lightly prodding a partially liquefied human arm.

Regardless of what the arm's oozing yellow pus was, it inspired yet another fit of dry heaving, which eventually turned into violent coughing. Gripping the shelf tightly, she struggled for a good minute or two as she tried to clear out her lungs and wipe all the water from her eyes and face. By some rare miracle, she managed to get herself back into working order and take off in search of Snow.

"Why did you drag me into this mess?" Sylvia lamented, speaking to nobody in particular as she shuffled around the mess of bodies - and body parts. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes, but blamed their sudden flood on the horrible smell. "You just had to go and escape and leave me behind with him. This is your fault. Things were fine, things were fine and now I'm out here in a sea of nasty-smelling corpses, looking for one in particular, in this piece of crap supermarket that smells like Butch's stupid jacket. You have a lot of explaining to do, sir."

Her sullen complaints were the only things filling the otherwise quiet store. And then she heard something. A shuffle. A groan. She moved as quietly as she could toward the noise, barely able to see. There was movement by the shelf.

BANG.

Knocked stupid by the noise, she fell back on the floor with a thud. When the ringing in her ears began to subside, she became more aware of the continued movement of the indistinguishable mass.

Shuffle. Slap. Thump. Sigh.

"Did you say I smelled nasty?" Sylvia heard. She squinted her eyes in an attempt to see better, finally resolving to shakily turn on her Pip-Boy light and point the device at the wriggling mass. A familiar face slowly popped up.

"Snow?"

"You catch on quick, kid." Pushing off the fallen raider that had taken the brunt of the explosion, Snow carefully began to stand. Her joints and bones popped dangerously loud, all but one: her left shoulder. The bone seemed to stick up into the skin much higher than it usually did, and seemed to have little mobility without pain. Snow sighed, and the sight clearly alarmed Sylvia.

"Did you break it?" she asked, moving closer to shine her light on Snow's arm.

Oh.

_"I_ didn't do anything to it," Snow replied, twisting to get a better look at the injury. _"You_ dislocated it." She sighed. "You ever shifted a dislocated bone back into place?"

She'd seen her dad do it multiple times, even tried it herself when she accidentally hit Christine Kendall with her bat. She'd only made things worse.

"Never mind," Snow replied over the stretching silence. "I'll just-" She let out a breath, and, breathing deeply in, extended her arm and rotated it. _Pop_. The pressure was relieved immediately, but she could still feel that familiar ache. Sylvia was somewhat in awe.

"You can reset a bone all by yourself?"

"Anyone can if they have at least the left side of their brain. It's not that hard. Doubt your kind ever figured it out." That last portion was mumbled, and disregarded when Sylvia asked what she'd said. "Let's keep moving, shall we? From what I remember of this place, there isn't much left to it. I'm pretty sure we've wiped out all the raiders now."

They searched behind a few more counters in silence – save for Sylvia's protests to the smell and, once, to the sight of a dismembered body – only to come up with a few extra ammo boxes, and some miscellaneous junk. Finally, they came to the last section of the store.

A whirring terminal was situated against the wall by a door.

"Check out that door, will you?" Snow said, rooting through the nearby cabinets for loot.

"It's locked," Sylvia replied, looking over the door for some kind of unlocking mechanism. There was not one, save for the keyhole which was badly corroded. Snow saw this when she came over.

"I won't be able to pick that," she said, rubbing her chin for a moment. After a few seconds of thought, she finally sat down in front of the terminal and powered it on, waiting for the usual screens to come through. They didn't. Snow was met with a screen full of numbers, symbols and jumbled words. Using the arrow keys on the keyboard, she guided the cursor down to the first word she saw, and hit ENTER.

**Incorrect. 2 / 5**

"Let me try," Sylvia offered, nudging Snow from the seat and sitting down in her place. She shut the terminal off and powered it back up again, replenishing the previously exhausted attempt. "Alright, let's see..." She mumbled a bit to herself off-and-on as she scrolled through the lines of code, hitting ENTER a few times, a word getting redacted from somewhere when she did. "Fantasy, ecstasy, ashtray..."

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

Bingo.

The terminal rolled to the next screen, with only one command displayed: **Unlock door.** In choosing that, they heard a little snick-click, and when Snow pushed the door again, it opened.

The room was pretty stuffy. Felt like it hadn't been opened in years, as the amount of settled dust was much greater than that of the outside. It had once been a storage room, judging by the rows of shelving and boxes, yet there was one unusual thing that drew both of their eyes. Against the far wall, encased in a large metal tube, was a Protectron.

Sylvia, awestruck by the motionless machine, ranted and raved about it mostly to herself. Snow was ignoring her anyway, in favor of searching the few containers still left in the room. Sylvia turned and got her attention after a few more moments of staring at the robot.

"Do you think we could try to open it up? See if it runs?" Sylvia asked. The puppy dog eyes forced Snow to say yes.

While Snow looked over the room some more, Sylvia dabbled around a bit with the control panel. An alarm briefly sounded, and the tube depressurized, bringing the machine back to life with a mechanical whir.

"_We're back!_"

Upon hearing the unfamiliar voice from somewhere in the store, Snow ordered Sylvia to remain out of sight. She opened the door back up as the Protectron approached it, standing out of its way.

"The hell?!" came from over the pharmacy counter as the door opened up, and a bullet embedded itself into the clunky machine's casing. Only now did the robot go into defense mode, shooting off an electronic warning as bullets began flying back at its assaulters. Snow hadn't actually expected this reaction, but it worked out for the better, she thought.

Until the machine made a sick, hard clicking nose and keeled over, sparking where the bullets hit. _Shit_. Shoving the door shut as far as she could, Snow raised her gun.

"You'll have to actually shoot this time if I'm in trouble, alright?" she said, gesturing to Sylvia, who nodded, though she wasn't sure she'd be able to comply if need be. Even still, Snow left her to her own devices for a moment as she climbed over the felled Protectron, using the minimal protection of the other wall for the time being. When it sounded like the raiders' suspicions had fallen a bit, Snow leaned over to see, aimed, and shot.

_Cling_.

"What was that?"

"I thought you were good at this!" Sylvia whisper-yelled, peeking over the corner to look at Snow angrily.

"I am, goddammit! This angle is just shitty."

"Yeah, it's the _angle's _fault."

After a few moments of relative silence – save for some indistinct muttering amongst what was left of the raiders - Snow peeked over the corner again.

Shoom.

The bullet – or rather, the two bullets – flew well past her head.

"This is getting so fucking tedious," Snow breathed, sitting her head back against the wall. After taking a deep breath, she shook her head and resolved to end this altercation as quickly as possible. Quickly making sure she had enough bullets, she turned over the corner and emptied her cartridge as accurately as she could manage, in the sudden cloud of smoke. The return fire, though there wasn't much of it to begin with, stopped after she fired the first few bullets. By the time her pistol was clicking, there was really no sound at all that she could tell through the ringing. Signaling for Sylvia to stay where she was, Snow climbed all the way through and carefully walked toward the counter, looking over.

The mess was actually a bit disgusting. Of course, two of the four bodies weren't her fault; the Protectron did a pretty good job of riddling them with large bullet holes, effectively creating multiple channels through which to drain their blood. Her work, which was two women, just laid on the tile. Minus the blood and bullet holes, this scene seemed oddly familiar. Shrugging, Snow turned to head back into the storage room, and continue looting. She realized too late that one of the women was still alive – just barely – but the sound of a bullet pinging off of the counter tipped her off. She crouched down, waiting for another bullet to fly. Instead, all she heard was a raspy, jagged breath, a thump, and metal clattering against the floor. Nonetheless, she still waited a moment before getting up and returning to Sylvia, who was still cowering faithfully around the corner.

"We're all good out there, unless someone decides to pop in for another visit. In the meantime, help me search this place."

It took less than fifteen minutes, all told, to collect everything both necessary and valuable from that storage room. Sylvia collected the Nuka-Cola's out of a couple of crates and picked up the piddly things, while Snow collected the meds and alcohol and ammunition, things that could be weaponized. After that was finished with, they made one last trip through the store – raiding the cash registers along the way – before finally leaving.

Snow was glad to breathe the 'fresh' air again. Sylvia was just trying to hold it together.

* * *

**Yo. Yeah. It's been nearly seven months. Remember when I said the fourth chapter shouldn't take long? I lied. Writing this chapter in this setting was a pain in the ass and incredibly boring, but I promise the next chapter will be better. And the best part? You probably won't have to wait until 2016 to read it. But of course, after November 10th, I really can't make any promises.**

**As always, review, favorite, follow, all that jazz, and another big thank-you goes out to my ever-wonderful Beta, SurprisinglyOdd.**


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